


The Sloop John B.

by executrix



Category: Firefly
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-04
Updated: 2011-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-21 01:03:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/executrix/pseuds/executrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The new pilot has just arrived on Serenity. Jayne sends out the unwelcome wagon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sloop John B.

_Sheriff John Stone,  
Why don't you let me alone?  
Lord, I feel so broke up, I want to go home.  
[…]This is the worst trip  
I've ever been on._

It was not easy to discern the exact nature of the business affairs of the cargo ship Serenity. I did ask the captain, of course, but he just glowered at me and said, "Son, I learned a long time ago not to ask questions folks might want to beat the answer to out of me."

That is one temporary employment agency I am **never** using again, let me tell you that. Here, let me give you their wavecode so you won't ever…I know I put it here someplace…Anyway, on one memorable occasion, I was sitting around in my bunk, the ship being engaged in not going anywhere. The rest of the crew, not the friendliest lot, were away on an errand of some sort.

The Captain seemed to be suffering from some sort of post-war traumatic syndrome, my sister Ellice used to watch broadwaves about that all the time. The first mate was somewhat aloof, which is only to be expected of a goddess. Because, mythologically speaking, encounters with deities are far more likely to result in a precipitous change of underwear for the hapless mortal than in consumption of sociable beverages. We also had a grease monkey, of a sort familiar to me. Even when they were supposed to be majoring in Aeronautical and Mule Repair, they majored in Smoking Area. And, when I first took on this wretched job, that was that.

A short time after my employment tenure commenced, I was out on a supply run when it appeared that our numbers had been enhanced by a professional Immovable Object. No details were forthcoming, although Corporal Alleyne did say, "Good thing you was out. Wouldn't want to have to hose you off the walls."

And a short time after that, I was minding my own business in my small and, may I say, rather humble, abode when the door opened. Most of the free space was soon occupied by Cobb.

He smelled surprisingly pleasant. "Been to the bathhouse," he said. "Sure, I was gonna get a whore, but I said to myself, that's selfish. There's that fella back on the ship. Nobody's gone outta his way to give me no kinda welcome party, but then I thought, whatthehell, why not go through and through two birds with one cartridge?"

Oh, holy mother of God.

"Err, your point being?"

"The three of us went to pick up a crate fulla guns I had stashed. You know the kinda place in them pissant little towns? It's the storage, and the PO, and the bank too. So, Cap'n and Alleyne loaded up the crate on the mule. And there was an arguation about the storage fees. Next thing you know, I was leanin' over the counter holdin' the postmaster up by the neck. And the Cap'n and the Corporal, well, they'd no more go out for the day 'thout goin' strapped than they'd go out without a kidney. So he racked that six-shooter of his and she racked her hog-leg. And we looked at each other, and there was that whole "great minds think alike" thing, y'know, so we figured, we was there anyway, might as well rob the place. Well, the whole bank weren't but a strongbox, so we took that. And the folk that were in there handed us what they was carryin', too. There was this little old lady, had a parcel wrapped up in brown paper. Sendin' it offworld, prolly meant for a Christmas present…"

"It's October sixth," I said.

"Yeah, you know how bad the service is at them places. Which is how the arguation got started. We struck a blow for better customer service, y' might say. Anyway, the package was light and it kinda rattled, we thought it might have confections and such, and damn if it didn't turn out to be a whole pan full of divinity fudge."

"Cobb, you stole a little old lady's divinity fudge?"

"Yeah, I'm a bad, bad man," he said. His voice was a comfortable rumble against the back of my neck, because somehow I appeared to be sitting on his lap, which was on my bed. I became certain that there was an earlier existence in which I had been a very bad water buffalo. Perhaps the worst water buffalo **ever**.

"So we all went off to the bathhouse, and some of us actually had a bath. And so there I was, all wet and sentimental. Asked that Bester if he wanted to, you know, economize with me, 'cause whatever we don't spend on whores we could spend on booze. Blond, sorta pretty, all them tattoos, could be kinda fun to lick over, like a coloring book. Turned me down flat, but he didn't have the stones to punch me in the mouth," Cobb said wistfully.

"Why would you want him to punch you in the mouth?"

"Well, y'know, if you ain't in the mood neither, I can always go jack myself off, but y'need other folks to have a fight."

I had actually never thought about it that way. That there are reasons why the brutish and tall do not always wish to be solitary. "So, whatcha think, Hobo?" he said.

"It's Wash," I said. If I ever catch up with whoever landed me with that stupid name…oh, wait. That would be Mama. The former Miss Darletta Jeannine Hoban. But still.

His body was warm against mine—I felt that Captain Reynolds had a certain tendency to keep the life support levels lower than strict working condition regulations would mandate—and his beard felt soft against my neck where he rested his head on my shoulder. He tightened his arms around my waist. It felt somewhat comforting. I believe that the most progressive pediatricians now prescribe a Teddy Terrorist or Security Merc for youngsters fearful of the night. Or the Black.

His hand flipped teasingly at the bottom of the shirt I was wearing. "So, Wash, **you** got any tattoos?"

Of course not. Mama would kill me, a rationale I cunningly failed to share.

"And you're sorta strawberry blond. That natural?" I truly fail to see how even Cobb would expect to receive any data on that subject by sticking his hand in my pants.

I am not one of those strong, pro-active persons who strongly and pro-actively determine their own fate. No, I am more of a drifting particle, impelled by every passing breeze. I do not do things, and I know it. Things happen to me.

"What, precisely, did you have in mind?" I squeaked manfully.

"Well, soon's I got back here, I was kickin' myself, 'cause I was right there in a bordello and I didn't, y'know, get any stuff. And might could you got some, but one thing I found, goin' through life, is there's a lot less Ass in Assume than a fella'd like to think. And believe me, I know that a man likes to be careful where his mouth goes. So I say, let's get nekkid, wrestle around some to get in the mood, then I'll grab my legs real tight round yours and jam till I get off. And if the whole thing and rubbing off 'gainst the sheets don't do it for you, I'll even give you a reach-round, which is where the generosity part comes in."

Oh, holy mother of GOD and ALL her wacky nephews.

This incident was never repeated, for which I am thankful and can only hypothesize that previously I was only a run-of-the-paddy water buffalo.

Shortly afterward we were ordered by Captain Reynolds into a frenzy of exhausting sanitary activities making no detectable difference, although I **was** ordered to hose down the walls so maybe somebody was splattered there, because by some madness an actual Registered Companion appeared. She was a beautiful woman, although she lacked Corporal Alleyne's…presence.

"Miss Serra!" I whispered urgently when the Captain's back was turned. "Trust me you do NOT want to be here. This is no place for the likes of you! Even if you set to one side the décor, which would be rejected even as a bad example by Reaver Eye for the Firefly, there are all kinds of…criminal activities going on! Usually unsuccessfully!"

She swirled lissomely from her waist, and gestured gracefully. "You know, Mr. Washburne, for some reason I feel that I belong here. That I'm in the right place."

And, you know, there **is** something compelling about Serenity. It's hard to leave, anyway.


End file.
